The Weight of a Word
by Wolf Maid
Summary: One-Shot. Martha/Ten. Martha is hurt and the Doctor has two paths he could take, depending on what he has decided she means to him.


A/N: (STYLE) This is a one-shot with two alternate endings operating on the significance on one word, and what it ultimately means for the tenth Doctor and Martha.

Martha is hurt and the Doctor has two paths he could take, depending on what he has decided she means to him.

--

**The Weight of a Word**

**-- **

He feels her recoil back into him, feels himself reach out and grab her, as though operating on pure instinct. Her body is warm against his, her hair sliding into his face as they fall together to the floor, her body slamming into his. She cries out softly as the impact jolts her new wound, and he is moving—again, without thought, again on pure instinct, hands exploring her stomach, moving her shirt to expose torn flesh—

Her eyes flutter, her breath comes in shallow gasps and his hand finds hers on instinct, tightening his grasp as she arches her back off the floor in agony, her eyes closing tightly as she feels herself start to slip into shock.

"The Tardis," she whispers, teeth grasping her bottom lip, eyes welling as some rational, clinical part of her takes inventory of her body, labels and categorizes her condition and her probable outcome, as his hand tightens on hers.

"No," he whispers, shaking his head, trying to ignore the trembles running through her body or her anguished cry as he puts pressure on the wound, his mind running through the thousand ways he could have been in front of her at that moment, cursing for the millionth time how fragile his humans are.

"Doctor, those _people_—" she starts, and then cuts herself off with a cry, digging her hand into the ground, digging up strength from her reserves that have already been pushed hard—"Doctor, you can save _them!_" with the clear implication that she knows he understands, but still she fights against the grey shadows edging into her vision, focusing on his face and the sudden anguish he can't stave off.

"No!" he yells, keeping pressure on her stomach, eyes finding hers, voice cracking—"No! I can't lose you, too!"

And he looks so lost and vulnerable that it's hard to breathe, but she smiles anyway. "Oh, _Doctor_," she whispers, hoping her eyes aren't welling up, "You'll find someone else, you're too magnificent to be alone. But those people—Doctor, they need you now!"

"Martha Jones, I can do _miracles!_ I _can_ save you! Give me a little faith, will you?" the Doctor tries to smile, but her eyes flutter and he thinks that maybe she _has _stopped believing—in miracles, or him, or both—and that scares him more then he'll admit.

"Get me back to the Tardis, Doctor," she says instead. "I want to see the end." And he grabs her up in his arms, trying to tune out her cry as her words echo in his ears but all he can hear is her screams and _the end the end the end the end the end_ and he's _seen_ too many ends and _caused_ too many ends and although he knows deep in his heart he _ can_ save her and has promised himself _no matter what_ he _will_ save her, he knows she's going to leave him anyway, and that—as always—he's alone.

Companionship is fleeting, and memories can haunt one as badly as any ghost.

He's lost too many people to pretend otherwise.

--

* * *

--

"Doctor, those _people_—" she starts, and then cuts herself off with a cry, digging her hand into the ground, digging up strength from her reserves that have already been pushed hard—"Doctor, you can save _them!_" with the clear implication that she knows he understands, but still she fights against the grey shadows edging into her vision, focusing on his face and the sudden anguish he can't stave off.

"No!" he yells, keeping pressure on her stomach, eyes finding hers, voice cracking—"No! I can't lose you again!"

And he looks so suddenly furious, so caught up in his rights and wrongs and miracles and determination that she can't help but smile a little for him, believe a little in him.

"Doctor—" she starts, but he cuts her off, loud and important and brilliant and believing:

"You're my Martha Jones, my _indomitable_ Martha, my gorgeous, wonderful girl who I haven't heard nearly enough Doctor jokes from and hasn't poked her nose into my business enough to satisfy me, because when I asked you on board I expected it _all_, Martha my girl, and you aren't leaving until I get it!"

And the pain is growing in leaps and bounds and everything around her is darkening but she manages a quick smile through the searing haze enveloping her. "Is that a promise, Doctor?" she asks, realizing that for once he isn't comparing her to Rose or anyone else. It's just her—Martha Jones. _The Doctor's _Martha Jones, and she rather likes the sound of that and—

He drops a quick kiss onto her lips and she blinks in surprise. "Your contract sealed and stamped and no renegotiating after you're healed, Martha Jones, because you belong to me now! Hold tight—this'll hurt," he warns as he picks her up, and it does—a lot, and the world swims rather alarmingly but she's suddenly warm in his arms.

"The Doctor's private physician?" she muses softly as the world sways and slowly darkens into oblivion, and he laughs, quietly, as he carries his precious load back to the Tardis. Knowing he can save her, promising himself he can keep her, because suddenly the second is almost as important as the first and he's ready and willing to fight for his Martha Jones.

She means too much and he's lost too many to let her go now.

He's tired of pretending not to care.

--


End file.
